Fracture
by FamiliarShadow007
Summary: Norma attempts suicide and consequently ends up in the psyche ward. What could possibly go wrong. (sorry that I only have the prologue finished but I promise you the rest is coming so take a bite and wait for more!)


**Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this. Norma attempts suicide. She's consequently thrown into the psyche ward and did I mention she hallucinates Norman. The prologue is finished while the chapters are still in development. Enjoy. Please note that the italicized words are Norma's inner thoughts. I do not own the rights to Bates Motel and its characters. Those rightfully belong to their creators and A&E.**

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**Prologue: Gone**

Soft notes from the antique music box settled through the room, stirring the dust into a slow waltz downward to rest again on the rustic dresser covering the door to the bedroom. The sad woman nestled on the bed glanced up at the dresser mirror, catching her breath as she took in the sight. Hair de-shelved, _what a pity_. Puffy eyes swollen from crying, _you're broken._ Face gaunt, void of purpose, filled in with fright and loss. _Look at you. Pathetic. No man, not even your own sons want you. End it. End it._

A tear escaped, landing on the carefully placed blade pressing down on the flesh of her exposed wrist. _Weak. Frail. False bravery._ Her image shook in the mirror, settled, than shook again. _Distortion._ Confused, she blinked. A sound broke through her numb silence, rising louder than the music from the box. A rough loud sound, almost barbaric in nature. As time ticked it grew in volume, shaking the entire dresser. A tiny ceramic mother hen high on the top shelf gradually made its way towards the edge, toppled over, and covered the wooden floor with its shattered pieces. The yellow chick that had rested under her for protection broke free with the impact and flew across the floor, loosing itself in the darkness under the bed. _Lost_

Pounding. Someone was pounding on the door and it possessed a voice, unsettled and choked.

"Open the door Norma."

_Dylan. What a shame, tragic really. Coming to your rescue. A tad too late I'm afraid. _Her grip on the blade tightened as she increased the pressure. Beads of blood rose to the surface.

A couple of powerful knocks rang out along with the rattling of the door knob. A sigh. A roar of frustration collided with a ferocious sound of splitting wood. "Dammit." He had punched a whole in the door. She pushed out a strained, short laugh, the corners of her mouth turning upward into a faint smile. _Why do you try so hard now? Why?_ Silence responds. The music box had came to its end some time ago. The boy, probably tending his broken hand, has ceased his assault, and Norma was prepared to keep the silence. Relish in it until its existence is extinguished. _End it!_

"Mother, please don't."

_No! It can't be!_

Wide-eyed, she glances towards the dresser. Before her stands the tall, lanky boy with the dark hair, and clean cut sweater vest which is his signature apparel. _Norman_. Torn between upset and joy at the sight of her true son she becomes rigid, petrified. He has witnessed her in her most vulnerable state. How can she proceed? He's a fragile soul. _ I can't leave my boy, I'm all he has. Sure there's Dylan but he can't take care of his own self let alone look out for another. Norman needs special help. Help that only I can provide._

Terror can be read upon his face. Longing for his mother's embrace. She is shaking now, gulping down the lump in her throat. _Stop suppressing the inevitable. Cut him free._ A gush of cold night air rushes in, enveloping the room. Shutting her eyes she wrings out, "Norman, forgive me." Her bladed hand sweeps across her skin leaving a crimson trail in its path. _Painless_

"NO!" Struck from the back she is dislodged from her perch, colliding with the floor. Strong arms embrace her, locking themselves in a tight grip. Life not yet gone she hears heavy foot steps accompany shouts, "IN HERE." The dresser shoved aside. Beams of light flash erratically. The door swings on its broken hinges in the background with its new visible hole coming in and out of view as shadows pass over, the weight of their footsteps crunching the remnants of the mother hen into powder.

_Mother is gone, sweetie. She's gone._


End file.
